“Fuck. Do I have a choice after everything you just told me? If I don’t help you, I’m complicit in this and that is not what I signed up for.”
The four of us shook hands. Riley took one more coffee and some croissants to go. As we watched him walk away, Will turned to me and said, “We need more like him.”
I agreed and I knew that in order to do that, we all had to band together.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Eva
“I tried to get you out of this, you know.”
I looked over at Wendy. We were sitting inside of Stella’s apartment, waiting for her. I tried telling Wendy that our sister was at The Institute, but Wendy insisted that she’d gotten out and should be in her apartment any minute.
“How’d you try getting me out?”
“I called the cops.”
“The night they showed up looking for Stella Thompson?”
“Yeah. Sister Marie said you were in trouble. I called for help.”
“You called the cops.” I laughed despite myself. “You think they wanna help me? They basically fed me to the wolves and wiped their hands. Even if they hadn’t, you think they’d choose me over the rich guys in The Manor? That’s like asking the Pope to choose between cardinals and monks.”
“Pope Francis would choose a monk over a cardinal if the cardinal had done something wrong.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged.
“Not maybe,” Wendy argued. “I know you weren’t brought up in the church the way I was, but—”
“Are you kidding? Karen took me to church every Sunday, to CCD classes every Wednesday night, to bible study when I was finished with my communion and confirmation. I was heavily involved in the church. That twisted thing you’re involved with has nothing to do with the church I know.”
“You’re not . . . you’re not entirely wrong, but to be fair the nuns are truly followers,” she said, and I finally got a glimpse of a woman who could be my sister, unable to admit when she was wrong, not aloud anyway. I felt myself smile as I shook my head.
“When you called the cops that day, why’d you tell them you were Stella?”
“Because you told everyone your name was Stella Thompson, and to be fair, I couldn’t tell the two of you apart yet.”
“Which is why you cut her hair.”
Wendy shrugged and stood, walking over to Stella’s bookshelf. She plucked out a thick hardcover and turned it over to me. It was Steve Berry’s The Malta Exchange. “Have you read this one?”
“I can’t tell you the last time I read a fiction book.”
“Well, obviously Stella and I have better taste in books.” Wendy smiled as she sat down and folded her legs beneath her.
“How are you so normal anyway?”
“Normal?” She glanced up from the book.
“You read thrillers, drink whiskey, talk normal, your name is Wendy, not Sister Mary or something.”
“Contrary to popular belief, nuns don’t always change their names. Not anymore anyway. Our mother did, Marie did, but that doesn’t mean everyone has to.” Wendy shrugged. “Besides, we’re not nuns, we’re sisters, and I’m technically a novitiate. I haven’t taken vows yet. I’m not even supposed to be wearing the clothes, but it’s not like the monks know one way or another. They barely understand English and they definitely don’t understand us.”
“The monks don’t know English?”
“They’re from the Ukraine,” she said. “They were also put up for adoption through St. Nicolas’.”
“The monks are all adopted?”
“Not like us. They went into the system when they were teenagers. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Most of them are barely eighteen.”
“Do you talk to them?”
“Sometimes. It’s not like I know Ukrainian.”
“But you kidnapped one of them.”
“He needed to get out of there before tonight.” She looked at the book in her hand. “I wish I could have taken more of them.”
“Because they’re nice?”
“Because they’re kids, Eva.” She closed the book with a thump and slid it into her purse. “They’re children. They’re doing what they’re doing because they feel trapped.”
“The way you’ve felt all this time.” I met her gaze. She nodded slowly. “How do you communicate with each other? How do you hold Mass?”
“In Latin.” She looked at the door. “Stella’s taking too long.”
“Maybe we should go to The Institute.”
“Maybe you’re crazy. It’s the middle of the day. If we go there, we’re screwed.”
“Do you think you’ll become a nun?” I asked, unable to drop the topic.
“Probably not.”
“Did you go to high school?”
“I was homeschooled.”
“Oh.”
“Trust me, I got a better education than you did.”
“I didn’t say otherwise.” I smiled after a moment. “But I was in honors my entire life, so . . . ”
“I saw your grades.”
“Did you know that there’s a link between St. Nicolas’ Orphanage and The Maslows?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why?”
“They were using us for their little experiments.”
“What do you mean?” I swallowed. Of course, I’d already come to that conclusion, but hearing it as a fact was unnerving.